Family
by Geraldine
Summary: Josh made a promise... A sequel to The fourth night.
1. Part One

Title : Family   
  
Author : Geraldine  
  
Email : lazy.gege@ibelgique.com   
  
Category : Drama, ESF, angst

Characters : Sam, of course, Josh, and Toby  
  
Rating : PG  
  
Summary :  Josh made a promise…  
  
Spoilers : to be safe, seasons 1 to 3  
  
Disclaimer : They belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, NBC, Warner Brothers, and I hope I haven't forgotten anyone. So obviously, they don't belong to me. I'm not making money from this story, I just have too much free time on my hands. So I'm begging : don't sue.  
  
Feed back appreciated.  
  
Note : Sequel to The fourth night.

  
Acknowledgements : My eternal gratitude to Jen , who beta'd this story and keeps encouraging me to write more, and to Ann for her help on the medical matters. Also, many thanks to everyone who asked if I was still writing, and especially to coupdepam, Ann, Elaine and Jen – for their kind words, and for the fic discussions. I'm having a lot of fun, chatting with you all!

PART ONE 

_"You lied to me."_

_"Sam…"_

_"You lied to me."_

_"I couldn't tell you, you know that. I had orders, and it wasn't my place to tell you."_

_"Yeah."_

"Sam, look…" 

_"I'm going home."_

_"Sam…"_

_"Later, Josh."_

*****

"_You lied to me_."

The words kept echoing in his head, repeating themselves over and over again, each time his feet hit the ground. He was running as fast as he could, in the rain, in the dark, refusing to see the darkness as a metaphor for his life. Or the future. Or whatever.

He didn't want to think about symbolism, or trust, or lies.

He didn't want to think about disappointments, illusions, belief.

He wanted to forget everything. He wanted to forget the conversation he had had with Josh earlier this evening – the same conversation they had had for weeks. The words hanging between them, stilted, contrived.

It always came back to this simple truth.

"_You lied to me._"

Reaching a crossing, he paused to catch his breath, realizing he had ceased feeling the rain long ago.

He wished he could stop feeling many things, right now.

He wished…

"_I wish I had never followed Josh,_" he thought.

Then he realized that he didn't even mean that, and made a disgusted grimace. Josh had saved him from a boring life, back then, a life where everything had been written in advance.

He knew where he was going then.

He was going to be made a partner, marry Lisa, enjoy their married life for a year, maybe two, have a kid, buy a house, have another kid, raise the kids, grow old, retire from corporate law, give lectures to occupy his last years.

So easy.

So predictable.

He had stopped being able to predict what his life would hold after he had joined the campaign, but until two months ago, it hadn't been a problem. It had been challenging, energizing.

Now, it was scary.

Sam shivered, and began running back to his place.

The unknown should have been challenging, not frightening.

Maybe it would have been if –

He sighed. He didn't like to think about the senior staff. They had drifted apart after The Announcement, as Sam had come to think of it. Each of them had had his own way of dealing with it, none of them had wanted to carry the other's burden on top of his own. And now, they were all alone.

Even when they were all together in a room, the sense of camaraderie, of family, was gone.

"_You lied to me._"

Sam picked up his pace, focusing only on the present.

When he saw the car from the corner of his eyes, he instantly knew it was too late to get out of its way. He tried anyway, and had the time to think, "_Stupid to run in this weather._"

Then there was a screeching noise, a loud bump, and everything turned to black.

End part 1


	2. Part Two

PART TWO 

"It hurts when I breathe," Sam said, hoping someone would care enough to do something about it.

"That's not surprising," a cheerful voice told him. "You cracked a few ribs."

"I did?"

That was… unfortunate.

"What do you remember?" the voice asked.

The first thing that came to his mind was his conversation with Josh. 

_"You lied to me."_

He grimaced, and it came back to him.

"I was running."

"Yes?"

"I heard brakes," he added.

"I suppose you did, yes. I'm doctor Kendall, by the way. Can we contact someone? You didn't have any ID."

He didn't particularly want them to contact anyone, no. He didn't want to see his colleagues more than necessary, didn't want to witness his second family crash and burn.

But they had to pretend that they were still united, and still standing by the President. Even if they wanted to be anywhere but here.

He sighed, and gave them Toby's number. He didn't want to deal with Josh and he suspected it was mutual.

"What happened?" he asked then.

"We're not sure. There were no witnesses, and whoever hit you didn't call for help. One of the neighbors heard the brakes, went to see what had happened and found you. You're lucky he checked."

"Yet, I feel pretty unlucky," Sam said.

"You have a slight concussion - I wouldn't try to move my head if I were you."

Sam, who had yet to take his eyes off the ceiling, and hadn't had any intention of moving his head any time soon, grunted in acknowledgement.

"Three cracked ribs - you're going to be sore for a while, there."

That would explain why it hurt when he breathed, Sam mused. There was something else, he could tell from the heavy silence in the room.

"I'm feeling an 'and' coming," he said, trying to mask his nervousness.

"Yes. You have a dislocated knee."

Sam swallowed. "How bad?" he asked, still staring at the ceiling.

The doctor leaned over him, and he finally was able to put a face to her voice. She was slightly older than he would have thought, based only on the voice. She looked pretty grim, and he closed his eyes briefly, before making eye contact with her.

"As bad as it could possibly get?" he asked.

"Unfortunately. It's a complete dislocation of the knee joint; the four main ligaments have been torn, and the artery was severed. As I said, you were lucky to have been found when you were - you were bleeding pretty badly, the knee was very swollen when you arrived here."

"Surgery?" he asked.

"Yes. We only took care of the artery, we'll fix the ligaments in a few days."

He sighed softly. He had been tired enough without having to deal with this on top of everything else.

He tried to move his head at last, wanting to see where he was.

It proved to be a mistake.

He moaned and bit his lip, waiting for the wave of pain to subside.

"Sir?"

"Hurts," he gasped, not feeling up to a more detailed description.

"I'll give you something for the pain," she said.

He closed his eyes.

The last thing he thought was, "_Toby is going to be pissed_."

*****

Sam opened his eyes, saw the very white ceiling above him, and remembered instantly that he was in a hospital.

"Nice bruises," Toby said, from somewhere on his left.

Remembering his last experience, Sam moved his head very slowly to look at his boss, noticing with relief that the pain was a little less intense than it had been last night.

"Thanks," he said weakly. "It took some pain to get them, I'm glad they meet with your approval."

His tone was so sarcastic it was almost painful to hear, he realized. But he felt entitled to be bitter.

They stayed silent for a moment. Toby shifted uneasily from foot to foot, before asking, "How do you feel?"

"Hurts all over," he said.

"Well, you were hit by a car," Toby said, and Sam noticed that for all the apparent levity, his boss looked concerned.

"Yeah."

"How did it happen?"

"Went for a run, got hit by the car, woke up here," Sam summarized.

"It was raining," Toby pointed out.

"So I noticed."

Toby was studying him, and Sam added, "Toby, I know it was stupid to go running in the dark and the rain, please, there's really no need to insist."

"I wasn't going to," his boss said. "Just… I'm glad you're okay."

Sam bit back a retort. He was not okay - he was in for another surgery, then for what he suspected would be a lengthy physical therapy period.

He had been hit by a car, and whoever had done that hadn't even stopped to check that he was still alive. True, his injuries could have been a lot worse. And if they had been, he would have been left alone on the street, unconscious, unable to call for help, and maybe bleeding to death.

"Sam…"

Sam closed his eyes, not wanting his boss to see how tired he was, and how depressed he felt, all the time.

He couldn't even bring himself to be really angry at the anonymous driver - he knew he should, but really, all he felt was a crushing disappointment. What kind of people did that?

"Sam…" Toby repeated.

"What?"

"Are you going to be okay?"

Sam looked at him incredulously. Toby rubbed his beard, adding, "I know things look pretty glum right now, and you landed in a hospital, on top of it. Are you…"

"I'll be fine," Sam said flatly.

"Yeah," his boss said, unconvinced.

"What do you want me to tell you?" Sam asked. His voice sounded defeated in his own ears.

"How you feel. Really."

**I'm pissed at the President, and I know it's not fair, because he has this disease, and he didn't ask for it, but still, he could have told us what we were getting into. And his defense, his, "But I never thought it would get that far."? That's what my dad told me after we learned about Her, and that was * not * the thing to say. He knew there was a chance, and when things did get this far, he had three years to tell us. And still, he didn't. And it hurts, and I'm scared of what it means - for this administration, which means so much to me. For the country, at large. For me, personally. For us, as a team. And Josh… I think I lost my best friend, Toby, and he lied to me, and he had promised.**

He couldn't say all that, so Sam smiled, feeling empty. "I'll be fine," he repeated.

Toby looked about to argue, then seemed to think better of it. "You know that if you want to talk…"

"Yeah," Sam said, wondering why Toby still bothered. He hadn't taken him up on his offer after The Announcement, and they hadn't really talked since then.

When Sam fell asleep again, his boss was still there, and he still felt alone.

*****

**The West Wing**

**Four hours later**

"He didn't say - ?" Josh tried to ask again.

Toby exploded. "No, Josh, he didn't say much, and he certainly didn't say that he hated you and refused to see you. Could we, please, stop it with the playground drama and get back to work?"

Josh blinked. "That was…"

"Josh, so help me God…"

"I'm just… we had had a fight before he went home. He looked down."

"As he always does these days," Toby answered, trying to hide his own worry and keep his face neutral.

"Exactly."

"Josh… it's not going to get better overnight."

"I know that, I'm not an idiot, but… there hasn't been any sign of amelioration at all, Toby. If nothing else, he seems worse."

"I know."

"Even Leo and the President have noticed," Josh insisted.

"I know."

"And they're wondering what's wrong with him."

"Josh, is there a point to this enumeration of things I ALREADY KNOW?" Toby's bellow was heard in the whole bullpen, and everyone paused briefly, before going back to work, pretending nothing had happened. All the staffers got accustomed pretty quickly to Toby's temper, and those who didn't, left. In the last months, Toby had been even more quick to anger. Everyone pretended not to notice - just as everyone pretended not to notice how withdrawn Sam was becoming, how rare it was to see CJ pay a visit to the guys, or to hear Josh and Donna banter.

Toby added, more quietly, "Besides, Leo and the President don't wonder what's wrong with Sam."

"Yeah."

"They know exactly what's wrong with Sam."  He had been trying to swallow his bitterness, but he was sure Josh had heard it.

"Yeah."

"And they think, as we all do, that he needs time."

Josh, clearly not satisfied with the answer, opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, and closed it again. Toby sighed. There was no point to this conversation, he knew. They had talked about it time and time again, nothing changed. Sam continued to detach himself from them, Josh continued to worry in front of everyone but Sam, and Toby continued to wonder how much more time it would take for his deputy to tender his resignation.

Josh had gone back to his office when Toby finally stopped staring off into space, and went back to work.

End part 2


	3. Part Three

PART THREE **Ten days later**

"For God's sake, Josh!!" Sam yelled. "How many times will I have to tell you that I'm fine?"

"As many times as it'll take for me to believe it," Josh said.

Sam closed his eyes, trying to hang on to his self control – what was left of it.

When he felt sufficiently in control, he looked at Josh and said, "I can manage, thank you."

The sarcastic voice in his head, the one that sounded suspiciously like Toby, pointed out that he was a klutz at the best of times, and that now wasn't the best of times – he had a knee in a brace, crutches, and strict orders to avoid putting pressure on the injured knee, at any cost.

He was bound to fall down, at some point, and he knew perfectly well that the rest of the senior staff were just waiting for it to happen.

Still… he didn't want anyone hovering. His friends meant well, there was no doubt about that, but they were so insistent – saying they needed to talk to him. 

How did he feel?

They were so very sorry.

Sam startled. Josh was talking to him, and he made an effort to focus, remembered fragments of a past conversation – _"You lied to me"_  - making the task difficult.

"Sam?"

He made an effort, and looked at Josh. "What?"

"Your keys?"

Sam shook his head, and handed the keys to Josh, who was bringing him home after a too-long stay at the hospital. Josh opened the door, and motioned for Sam to go in first, hovering at his side. Sam shot him a murderous look and Josh got the message. He went first, and ignored Sam's efforts to enter his home.

His friend was weird, Sam thought.

He was behaving as if Sam would collapse any time soon, he always seemed about to ask something without daring to, always seemed on the verge of putting a hand on his shoulder and patting him comfortingly.

Sam had wondered about this in the hospital, when Josh visited him, between two bouts of depression. God he was tired of feeling like that all the time.

"Sam?"

He rolled his eyes, and answered, "Coming." 

There would be time to think later, he told himself. And if there wasn't… he was too tired to worry about that.

*****

**Two hours later**

Sam was sprawled on the couch, as comfortably as his injured knee would allow.

Josh was flipping through the channels, trying to find something to watch, then automatically stopping on CNN as nothing else held his interest.

"Do you really think it's wise to stay here alone?" Josh asked. "My offer that you use my spare bedroom still stands."

"I'll manage."

"What if you fall?"

Sam shrugged. "One of the residents of the floor is a nurse," he answered.

Josh tried to smile. "And you know that because…"

"Because the man who lived on the third floor had a heart attack and she tried to help."

"I don't know my neighbors," Josh said.

Sam bit back a retort and shrugged. "I know mine. Well, some of them."

"Is she cute?"

Sam snorted. "She's a very cute grandmother," he answered.

"Grandmother? That's… old."

"She's fifty five, Josh. That's my Mom's age. I don't consider my mother old."

"Okay."

The two men stared at the TV for a while, then Josh asked, "You hungry?" 

"No."

"You should eat."

"I know."

"I'll order something."

"Yeah."

Josh shot him a look, and went to the phone. Sam tuned his voice out, staring at the screen where a reporter was commenting on the latest bombing in the Middle East.

Sam began thinking about hatred, lost generations, education and hope for the future. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear Josh come back.

His friend was staring at him concernedly.

"Sam…"

Sam let out an explosive sigh. "Josh, I swear, if you ask me if I'm fine, I'm going to-"

"Did you do it on purpose?" Josh asked.

Sam stared at him. "Do what on purpose?"

"Step in front of the car."

Some detached part of Sam pointed out that he should have been more insulted by that question, that he should be busy yelling at Josh right now, instead of staring dumbly at him. He was too tired to manage anger, though. He just said, plainly, "No." 

It must have sounded thoroughly unconvincing.

"Josh," Sam tried again, "It was just stupid to run in this weather. But I really didn't do it on purpose."

"You've been depressed."

It would have been pointless to deny it, so Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"You seem…"

Sam almost smiled. "Lifeless, listless, tired, sad… all of the above…"

"Yeah."

Sam suddenly realized that this was what his friend had been burning to ask him, without daring to, since the accident. Once upon a time, he would have been triumphant at having figured Josh out.

"Sam?"

"Josh… I'm doing the best I can. I'm going as fast as I can. I can't…" He stopped. To his horror, his eyes were burning. He squeezed them shut, trying to regain his composure.

Josh stood where he was, chewing on his lip.

Sam opened his eyes, sighed. "What do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything from you, I want you to get better!!" Josh exclaimed.

"_You lied to me_." For one breathtaking moment, Sam thought he had said that out loud. Then, he realized that he hadn't and began to breathe again. He didn't want to have that particular conversation again. "I'll be fine," he said aloud.

"Yeah…" Josh said, clearly disappointed.

"I will."

Thankfully, the delivery boy rang the bell, saving them from more platitudes.

*****

**The West Wing**

**The next day**

"I don't know how to talk to him," Josh said by way of greeting, when he entered Toby's office.

There was no need to mention who 'him' was.

Toby sighed. He would have loved to dismiss Josh with a vague comment that he didn't care, but he knew no one would believe that.

With good reason.

The weeks went by, the press wasn't softening on them, they had the pressure of the re-election to deal with, and his deputy was… fading away, there was no other word for it. Why shouldn't he have been worried?

Sam didn't smile anymore, didn't chit-chat anymore, didn't say anything unless he had been asked a direct question. He wrote what was asked, but didn't try to argue cases, didn't try to do more than whatever was requested.

He seemed to be settling into depression, and that worried Toby.

Josh was busy relaying the last discussion he had had with Sam, and Toby choked on his coffee.

"You asked him what?" he yelled.

"It's not such an unreasonable question, Toby!"

"Yes, yes it is!"

"He's been depressed!"

"So have we all!"

"More depressed than – "

"Josh!"

There was a short silence, then Toby asked, "What did he say?"

"That he hadn't."

"And…"

"It wasn't convincing."

"He's tired, Josh, of course he wasn't going to be… you know…"

"Yeah."

"Do you think he did it on purpose?"

Josh hesitated, then reluctantly said, "No. I wondered, but… no, I don't think he's there yet."

Toby nodded. 

"What do we do?"

"I don't know."

"What can I say to him?"

"I don't know," Toby told Josh. "I think we should think about it."

*****

**Three weeks later**

"One more time."

Sam groaned. "No."

"Sam, one more time," she repeated, her tone firm.

He sighed, braced himself for the pain that would accompany the movement, and flexed his knee. He gritted his teeth. Damn, but that hurt.

"You okay?" his physical therapist asked when his leg was stretched again.

"No," he snapped.

She looked at him sympathetically. "I know it hurts, but if you don't follow - "

"I'll limp for the rest of my life, yes. Right now, I don't care about the rest of my life," he answered.

She seemed unsure of how to respond, and he shot her a shaky smile. "Sorry," he said. "I'm just tired."

And depressed, but he didn't want to add that.

And there was this other feeling, nagging at the back of his mind. He couldn't quite place it.

The last weeks had been hell. On top of the Prolonged Torture, as he had soon taken to calling it, his professional life hadn't brightened in the slightest. Subpoenas were issued, his writing felt flat, even though Toby hadn't said anything about it (yet), he was saddled with pointless assignments and he had noticed that his visits to the Oval Office were becoming few and far between. He was wondering if his colleagues wanted to fire him, or if he was just being given time to deal with… everything.

Either way, he felt guilty – it meant that he had been… less than professional. It meant he had let his feelings of resentment show.

None of which explained that nagging feeling he still had.

Toby was concerned, and Sam felt moved by that. His boss wasn't known for letting people get close, and the fact that he let Sam see how worried he was spoke volumes.

Josh… Josh hadn't said much since the day he had asked Sam if he had tried to kill himself. He had stopped trying to pressure Sam into talking, he had let him be, and Sam knew he should have felt relieved, but he merely felt… abandoned, somehow, as if his friend has stopped hoping for better days.

Sam sat up and let the nurse help him up on his crutches.

It was only an hour later, as he was stumbling home, that Sam finally understood what that nameless feeling was. He paused to think about it.

He was angry.

He had become unused to this feeling, and took a moment to contemplate it.

There was no denying it – he was angry.

Trying to pinpoint a target for his anger, he reached the conclusion that he was angry at the driver. Who had hit him with his car, and probably hadn't even slowed down.

Who could just as easily have killed him, or definitely maimed him.

Who, as it was, was responsible for the long hours of re-education he had to suffer through.

Once upon a time, Sam reflected, he would have tried to work his way through the anger quickly. Now, however, he took his time to savor it a little. It was such a nice change, to not feel dumb all over.

He liked that feeling, he realized. 

And for some reason, this made him feel better.

End part 3 


	4. Part Four

**PART FOUR** Two weeks later 

Sam saw Josh waiting in front of his door, and sighed.

He wasn't in the mood to talk.

"Hey," Josh said.

Sam nodded briskly, and moved to open the door. He fumbled with his keys, still holding on to the crutches.

After a while, Josh took his keys and opened the door. Sam limped past him, eyes fixed on the floor.

He made it to the couch after what felt like a few hours of struggling, letting Josh close the door behind them. He collapsed on the couch, and finally made eye contact with his friend.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Want something to drink?"

"No. Help yourself, though."

Josh went to the kitchen, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts. "_You lied to me._" What did Josh want, he wondered.

Josh came back, handed him a drink.

"I told you I didn't want – "

Josh cut him off. "Yeah, well…"

Sam snorted, took a sip from the glass, and watched Josh as he made a quick inventory of his place.

"You didn't trash it again, did you?" Josh said.

There was something in his friend's satisfied tone that grated on Sam's nerves. "No," he said, controlling his voice very carefully.

"That's… good."

Sam remembered the night of The Announcement, Josh pounding on his door, calling his name, and him, drinking from the bottle, sitting on the floor of his trashed living room. God, what a cliché that night had been, he thought.

"What?" Josh asked, as Sam smiled.

"Just thinking… Nothing interesting."

"Okay."

There was a silence, and for a moment, Sam sorely missed the time when he and Josh could stay silent without it being uncomfortable.

"How long are you going to be mad at me?" Josh asked.

The question surprised Sam with its directness. He grabbed his glass, squeezed it. It broke in his hand, the sharp pain making him react at last.

"I'm not mad," he said, his tone thoroughly unconvincing.

Josh stared at his hand, then his face. "Sam…"

"Josh, it's fine, really."

Then Sam realized that Josh was staring at the blood dripping from his hand. Before he could move, or say anything, Josh spun on his heels and rushed to the bathroom, coming back with a towel a few moments later. "I'm fine," Sam said, wrapping the towel around his hand.  

"Yeah, right, now, how about the truth?" The answer had been automatic, and Josh looked concernedly at Sam's hand.

"_You lied to me._"

"It's fine," Sam said. He had spent quite a lot of time feeling angry, recently – he was trying not to show it, was trying not to indulge in it, but he did consider it a progress from the depression he had felt, and still felt.

"No, it's really not fine," Josh said. "Obviously. I want to know because… Sam, you're not even there with us. You're… I don't know where you are. Somewhere behind, I guess."

Yes, Sam thought. Behind… That night, when Leo had brought him home, and Josh had come, and had promised him…  "You lied to me."

"Damnit, Sam, I told you, it wasn't my place to say - "

"I'm not talking about the MS," Sam yelled. "I'm… You promised, Josh. You promised that nothing would happen to the family I had here, and look at us now!!! You promised."

Sam saw the moment it dawned on his friend. The moment when he finally understood what was wrong. "It wasn't my fault," Josh protested.

"I trusted you," Sam said. "And I know it wasn't your fault, but, shit, Josh, I trusted you, and you had no right to make promises you couldn't keep."

"You're actually mad at me for that?" Josh asked.

"You stopped talking to me," Sam said. "You… you said you'd be there, we'd all be there for each other, but you were the first one to avoid me." 

"Sam…"

"Get out," he said, his anger spent.

"Sam…"

"I'm tired, my knee hurts like hell, and I'm… tired." So very tired he could lie right down on the ground and fall asleep there.

"Look…" Josh tried again.

"Get out," Sam said again, his tone pleading.

"Your hand…"

"I'll deal with it. Leave, please."

Josh nodded, got up. A few times, on his way to the door, he looked about to stop, but seemed to decide to drop it.

When he heard the door close behind his friend, Sam breathed in, and out. He stared at his hand, the towel red with blood.

He didn't have the strength to make it to the ER, not tonight.

Sighing, he took the phone, and called his neighbor.

*****

The West Wing 

**The next day**

"So?" Toby said, as he entered Josh's office.

"So what?"

Toby rolled his eyes, his patience running out already. He took a breath. Antagonizing Josh would be a bad move. "Did you talk to him?" he asked, trying to control his voice.

"I… Kind of."

"Kind of?" Toby repeated.

"Yes."

"How do you 'kind of' talk to someone?"

"Look, Toby…"

"Josh, so help me God, if the next words out of your mouth are 'It's none of your business',…" Toby let the threat hang in the air between them. After all the times Josh had come to him, complaining that he didn't know how to talk to Sam, Toby wasn't going to let him evade his questions.

Josh sighed. "I talked, and… I don't really think anything got resolved," he admitted.

"Do you think he's going to resign?" Toby asked, praying for Josh to say "no".

"I don't know."

Damn, Toby thought.

The two men stayed silent for a moment, then Josh offered, "I don't think so. He's had a bad year, that's all…"

"We all had a bad year," Toby said automatically. Then he wondered when it had become the justification they used to explain Sam's behavior – in meetings, in informal gatherings, each time they noticed that Sam had changed.

He had a bad year, yes, but when did we stop trying to do something about it, Toby wondered. Did we ever try to do something? Or did we just assume it would pass?

"He lost more than we did, Toby," Josh was saying.

"I'm well aware of that," he snapped. "But, come on, he's a grown man." 

"Who lost his family."

"Yeah," Toby said, not even trying to deny it.

"And the respect he had for his job," Josh added.

"Yeah."

"And… you know…"

"Yeah."

There was another heavy silence, then Toby asked, "And what do we do about it?"

The silence that followed that question wasn't filled by an answer.

*****

Two weeks later 

**The White House**

"I hate this," Sam grumbled when he entered the room, CJ walking next to him.

"You love this," she corrected. So sure of herself.

And she was right.

"Okay, but I don't love these… things," he spat, looking down at his crutches.

"That, I can believe."

He rolled his eyes, still struggling to move forward, and almost fell down. He felt a hand on his arm, helping him to hold his balance, and he turned slightly to see Lord Marbury standing next to him.

"All right?" Marbury asked.

"Yes, thank you," Sam said, nodding formally.

"Must be pretty hard to associate these dreadful things with a tuxedo," the diplomat observed pleasantly.

"Especially when you're a klutz," CJ muttered under her breath.

Sam shot her a dire look, this time keeping in mind that he had to stop moving to do this. Then he made his way through the crowd, CJ still watching over him, Lord Marbury chatting with him.

"_I * hate * these things,_" Sam thought again, just as the first notes of Hail to the Chief rang in the ballroom.

*****

Three hours later, Sam still hated these things with a passion. He was now standing next to the bar, trying to juggle his drink, his crutches and a conversation with a very annoying freshman congressman who – sweet irony – wanted to talk Sam into supporting a bill proposing harder penalties for drunk drivers.

"I mean, just * look * at you," the oblivious congressman gestured at Sam. "Who did that to you?"

Marbury, who had heard the last comment, made his way to them, just as Sam mumbled, "I didn't exactly have the time to ask for his ID, congressman."

"Such a shame…" the congressman said.

Before Sam could ask if it was a shame that he had been hit or that he hadn't asked to see a driver's license, Marbury jumped into the conversation. "We can all agree on that," he said. "And now, congressman, if you'll excuse us, I need to talk to Mister Seaborn for a while."

The congressman took his leave and Sam looked worriedly to Marbury. "What can I do for you, ambassador?" he asked politely, praying that there was no international crisis looming on the horizon.

*****

One hour later, Sam was ready to beg for a little quiet. The discussion with Lord Marbury had been pleasant enough – the man had merely wanted to rescue him from the annoying congressman, and tell him that he hoped Sam was doing better. Then, Marbury had had to go greet dignitaries, and Sam had been left on his own – which countless people had interpreted as an invitation to annoy him, apparently.

Sam was bored, his knee hurt, his arms were beginning to show signs of fatigue from the long time he had had to lean on them, and his temples were pulsing faintly with each heartbeat, promising a horrible migraine soon. He just hoped he'd be home before the headache truly struck.

He slipped out of the room and took a few breaths of the cool air. 

He heard a zippo behind him and started, turning to see the President, leaning against the wall, holding a cigarette – a living picture of exhaustion.  

He fleetingly wondered how hard the man had to fight, every day, to keep his façade of control, efficacy, when every detail of his life was plastered in the newspapers. 

He didn't want to think about what it felt like.

"Sir," he said, preparing to leave the man alone.

"Sam," the president greeted. "Stay," he said. "These evenings are pretty… tiresome."

Sam smiled weakly.

"How are you?" the President asked.

"I'm fine." He bit back the "What about you?" that had been on his lips. "Thank you, sir," he said instead.

The President inhaled some smoke, his eyes half closed. Both men watched the smoke evaporating in the air, then Bartlet said, "Toby and Josh are worried about you."

"I know," Sam said.

He would have had to be blind to miss the sideway glances, the whispers, the quiet conversations they had – between them, with him, between them again.

He didn't know what they were looking for. He didn't know what to do to reassure them.

"They're scared we're going to lose you," Bartlet elaborated.

"Oh," Sam said.

"So am I."

"Sir?"

"I've tried to let them deal with it, tried to tell myself that you'd come around, but I need to know… Are you going to resign, Sam?"

He couldn't pretend the idea hadn't crossed his mind.

He couldn't pretend he hadn't typed a few letters of resignation, couldn't pretend he wasn't looking at the job offers differently than he had six months ago.

Couldn't pretend he wasn't tempted to just go away.

"I should have apologized," Bartlet said, without waiting for an answer.

"You did."

"Nah, we both know that I skirted around it."

Sam didn't answer. What could he say? He was right. Maybe it was that, more than the lie, that had hurt him.

Bartlet could be an arrogant, self centered, son of a bitch. Sam had discovered that during the campaign, and had stayed only because Josh had faith in this man, and because he could see glimpses of something else behind the jackass exterior – a sincere desire to help people, a sincerity he had looked for, and failed to find, for two years, before he gave up on Washington and chose corporate law.

The honesty the man displayed was what had drawn Sam to him. So, yes, learning that he had bet his life on a lie had hurt, especially after… After.

And Bartlet saying that he had had the right to manipulate them… that had hurt even more, in its own way.

"Sam?" Bartlet said.  "I'm sorry." Sam raised his eyes to meet Bartlet's.  "I'm sorry I lied to you. And to Toby, for different reasons, and to Josh, for yet other reasons, and to CJ, and Leo. And the people. And maybe you're right, maybe we still would have won, but that's not certain.  And I don't regret being elected. I don't regret that you got me elected, all of you. I do believe that we've made this country better."

Sam nodded, his mind elsewhere.

Had it been worth the price they had paid? 

Had it been worth his trust?

Had it been worth his friendship with Josh?

Had it been worth the heartache?

Thinking back on the few victories they had had, he thought so.

"God knows you're entitled to be angry, Sam. I wanted to give you time, but I'd like to know… Are we… Am I, going to lose you, Sam?"

Sam looked at him. "We could do better, sir," he said.

"Undoubtedly," Bartlet said, a small smile on his lips.

"I'd like… I'd like to be in the room, the day we'll have done, not only good, but really great." That would be worth the price, he felt.

Bartlet closed his eyes briefly, then nodded. "That's your choice," he said.

"Yes, sir."

"I need you. It's probably not fair to you, and if I really wanted what's best for you, I'd fire your ass so you could run for yourself, but… I need you. All of you, of course, but you…" 

Sam swallowed. "Thank you, sir," he said.

Bartlet nodded, and they fell silent, watching the stars.

End part 4


	5. Part Five

PART FIVE **One week later**

Well, it had been a shitty day, Sam thought. And perhaps he should have been able to describe his day better than by using 'shitty', but that was the best he could do right now.

Toby in a grumpy mood after he had been stuck on a speech, Josh annoying everyone with Amy's latest offense, and, oh, yes, his father calling him, two hours earlier, inviting him to his wedding – Sam had thought he was past the anger stage as far as his parents were concerned, but he now realized he had been sadly mistaken.

Toby and Josh had gone now, apparently convinced that they wouldn't succeed in cheering him up. He was left in the deserted bullpen, staring at his desk, and it looked so disgustingly like that other night, months ago, when he had learned of his father's affair…

Shaking his head, Sam prepared to leave. He had put on his coat when his cell phone began to ring. Checking the number, he saw that his father was yet again trying to reach him. He waited until the ringing had stopped, and kept on staring at the phone in his hand, then at the window.

He felt a presence behind him.

"Don't throw it."

"I know."

Yet he didn't move. After a while, he decided that breaking another window would look pretty foolish – especially in front of Leo, who, he was sure, was now looking concerned.

He turned to face his boss. "Leo."

"Sam."

He was sure there was more to say, but he didn't know exactly what. And neither did Leo, apparently.

"Sorry," said Sam. "I'm… I had a strange day."

"Strange?"

"And my father is getting married with the other woman, so…"

"Yes. Josh wouldn't tell me what happened – "

"I didn't tell him." 

"Okay."

"I'll tell him, I just… I want… Actually, I don't know what I want."

"A drive home?" Leo suggested.

Sam shook his head. "No, thanks, I – " Seeing Leo's stern face made him reconsider. "That wasn't a suggestion, was it?"

"No."

Because no one discussed orders when they came from Leo McGarry, Sam shrugged. "Okay, then."

*****

They were well on their way to Sam's place when Leo said, after a long silence, "I talked to the President."

"Yes?"

"He said you were staying."

"I-"

"We all know you thought about leaving, son."

Sam didn't deny it. He was a little embarrassed at not having concealed his feelings a little better than that. "Yeah, well-"

"The President is glad that you're staying. And so am I."

Sam shot him a look, and nodded. "Thanks."

"You didn't… This thing you do… "

"Not since the MS. I… thought about that, too. But, you know… I always feel pretty stupid after I'm done."

Leo had a wolf-like grin. "I'm sure."

"Yeah."

The rest of the drive was made in silence. As Sam was climbing out the car, Leo asked, "You'll be all right?"

Sam smiled, more touched by the man's concern than he wanted to admit. "Sure."

"Good. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

*****

**Three days later**

Sam felt Josh's presence before he talked. His friend radiated awkwardness. "Hey buddy," Josh exclaimed, taking a seat next to him, at a corner table in their favorite bar. 

"Josh…"

"How do you… How are you doing?"

"Well, I'm not going to resign, so if that's the reason you're here, you can go tell Toby, and - " 

Josh raised a hand to silence him. "That's not what I came here for."

"It's not?"

"No. I was walking, you see – "

"Walking?"

"Yes. Enjoying the evening, outside, because I'm, you know…"

"An outdoorsman," Sam supplied, his tone conveying just what he thought of Josh's illusions.

"Yes. And so, I was thinking about everything you said the other day, and glad as I am that you're… fighting back, I think you can say, it occurred to me that you, my friend, are an idiot."

Sam stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "I'm sensing a long, long talk in front of us."

"You're right."

He looked down at his glass, and said, "Well, go ahead, and please, tell me how I am an idiot."

Josh leaned back in his seat, studying him. "Well, technically, you're not the only one to blame," he admitted.

"Okay."

"We've all been pretty dumb. Me, too."

Sam fought the grin trying to plaster itself on his face.

"What?" Josh asked defensively.

"The Great Josh Lyman just admitted that he had been pretty dumb," Sam said.

"Yeah. As you have been."

"How so?" he asked.

"Sam… families fight. All the time. They have their ups and downs, their members drift apart, and reconcile, and fight, and love each other."

Sam didn't say anything, merely motioning for Josh to go on. 

"You didn't lose us, we just… we're going through a down, but we'll come up eventually."

"Josh…"

"Sam, seriously. You… you didn't lose us, we didn't implode, or whatever it is you've convinced yourself we did. We're still here, just… more battered up than we were before."

"It had occurred to me, you know. You… You stopped talking to me," Sam said.

"I'm sorry."

"You had promised," Sam said again. "Before the accident, and after… I was… I kept struggling with all these stupid assignments, and I didn't try to talk to you all the time, but when I did, you ignored me. What was I supposed to think, Josh?"

"Yeah. I don't know what to tell you."

"I thought… I supposed you were angry."

"Angry?"

"At me," Sam elaborated. "For the way I reacted to the MS. Because I wasn't… as committed as you all were."

"Oh. I…"

"I was doing the best I could, Josh. I couldn't have done better, even though I probably should have." He sighed. "Never mind. It's all right."

"No, it's obviously not. Sam, really - "

"You're all here," Sam completed.

"Do you have any idea how worried we are, all of us?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Josh said, nodding forcefully.

"And I'm an idiot?"

"Yes."

"When… when did you understand, that, you know, families fight, and so on?"

"Uh… three hours ago."

"So, I'm not alone in my stupidity?"

"No, you're not alone."

"I'm guessing you didn't say any of that to CJ?"

"No."

"Or Toby?"

"He knows a few things, but not that… well…"

"We're idiots?"

"Yeah."

"Actually, I think he does know, but whatever."

"We'll be fine."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Josh. Please."

"I know. I'm saying… things took a turn for the worse, there, I know, but…"

Sam wasn't as convinced as he had been, back when Josh had promised him that he wouldn't be alone in DC. He didn't think he'd ever be.  And he could admit that some part of him had blamed Josh, because he had followed him to the campaign, out of trust. Without Josh, he wouldn't have been here at all. But he could admit that, if he had followed Josh, he had stayed of his own accord. He could have run away screaming when he had met Bartlet, or Toby. He could have left after the campaign. He could have left at any point. He had stayed when things looked bright, and Sam was not the kind of man who left when things got darker. He had stayed out of habit, or because he wanted to, or because Sam Seaborn wasn't a quitter, but he hadn't stayed for Josh, he knew that.

Josh had done his best, he supposed. Ignoring him may have hurt, but he knew Josh's faults and accepted them.

"It'll be all right," Josh repeated.

He knew his friend had no control over what could happen next, but it didn't matter.

Families had ups and downs, and with luck, soon, an up would come.

Maybe it was there, already.

Sam nodded, and raised his glass. "Okay."

After he had taken a few sips, Josh asked, "You heard from your father again, didn't you?"

Sam nodded, stared at his glass for a while, then began to talk.

*****

It was a very sore Sam who woke up the next morning.

His first conscious thought was that it was going to hurt. He didn't know what "it" was, but he could feel it.

He then tried to open his eyes, and memories came back – the bar, Josh telling him he was stupid, himself, trying to believe Josh, but not daring to.

The beers he had drunk, and Josh almost carrying him back home.

Ugh.

He head was throbbing, his stomach was rebelling, and his knee was painful, even though he hadn't moved it yet.

Yes, the day was going to be a blast.

Then, a cheerful-looking Josh came in, carrying a glass of water. Sam grimaced, trying to order his stomach to keep quiet.

"How do you feel?" cheerful-Josh asked.

"Ugh," Sam summarized. He raised his head, decided that the walls shouldn't have been spinning that way, and swallowed.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"I hate you."

"Why?"

"Because you didn't drink. You could have been miserable with me. Also… I now realize that running to the bathroom to throw up with a dislocated knee is going to be, you know… impossible."

Josh blanched and precipitately stepped back.

******

"I hate you," Sam said, for the tenth time in as many minutes.

The automatic answer came. "Yeah, you've said that already, buddy."

Sam sighed, closing his eyes and trying to dispel a new wave of nausea, remembering his talk with Josh.

He was tired of feeling so alone, all the time. He remembered the nearly physical despair that had almost overcome him at times, these last weeks. The feeling of isolation he felt constantly.

Yet… yet, he still wasn't sure that being surrounded by his friends was worth the heartache he had been going through recently.

"Sam, you can't go on like that."

"Josh…"

"Seriously, you're… I know you don't trust many people right now, and you've been burned, but come on… this is…"

Sam chuckled. "Unhealthy?"

"Well, yes."

"I know," Sam said. "I just… I'm… I'm tired, Josh."

"I know."

"And I… I'm not sure I can take another blow."

"You won't have to."

"You can't promise that," Sam protested. "We work in politics, it's inevitable that we're going to… make the convenient thing, sometimes. To… you know,…"

"Screw someone over? Betray each other? Keep someone out of the loop?"

"Yeah. I… I love writing for the President, Josh. Even after…everything. This job means the world to me, but I'm not sure I can go through that again."

"Okay, then, you won't have to go through that until you're ready to."

"Josh…" 

"I can promise that, Sam. I… I know I didn't keep my word the last time, and I'm sorry, but come on… One more chance can't hurt."

Sam couldn't agree with that. One more chance could hurt him if he was disappointed again.

Yet… yet, spending the rest of his life alone wasn't exactly appealing either.

Josh was looking at him, anxious for an answer.

He nodded, once, hesitantly, and Josh brightened.

And Sam nodded again, more resolutely.

End part 5


	6. Part Six

PART SIX 

It had been a horrendous day, Sam thought, leaning back in his chair. A near PR disaster, Toby stuck on a speech (and thus, grumpy and in the mood for yelling), the beginning of a headache, and still some pain in his knee.

"SAM!"

He sighed. "Yes, Master," he said, as Toby entered his office.

"The speech was good," Toby said, before retreating to his office, leaving a puzzled Sam behind.

"Okay," Sam said, to the empty room.

Two minutes later, Toby was back with two cups of coffee. Sam felt his eyebrows raise so high that he could have sworn they were reaching his hairline. "What did I do?"

"You wrote a great speech," Toby answered, closing the door.

"Okay."

"While I was… well…"

"Stuck?"

"Momentarily unable to bring myself to care about farm subsidies."

"Okay." 

"Are you all right?"

Sam smiled. "Seems to be the 10 000 dollars question, doesn't it?"

"Are you?"

Sam shrugged. "I feel more… I don't know…"

"We noticed."

"I thought it was a progress, to go from depression to anger," Sam said. "I wasn't sure it would last, and I wasn't sure I'd ever get past the anger stage, but…"

"You seem to be."

"I'm waiting for the depression to come back," Sam admitted.

"You think it will?"

"How would I know?"

"It better not," Toby advised.

"Are you threatening me or the depression?"

"Both. I like to be able to yell at you, and generally make your life miserable. It's not possible when I'm worried."

Sam almost thanked Toby, but settled for a neutral, "I'll try to be 'abusable', then."  

"See that you do," Toby said, gruffly, leaving him alone.

Sam smiled unbelievingly. He'd never have thought that his boss would ever admit to being worried about him. Nor would he have thought that it would make him feel so much better.

He shook his head, studying the draft he had in front of him. He better get back to work, if he wanted to be finished in time for the PT. And after that, Josh, who was going to great lengths to make sure Sam knew he wouldn't let him down, would take him to a bar.

Still smiling, Sam began to write.

He couldn't wait to get his revenge for the hangover Josh had let him get the last time they had been out.

Sam, immersed in his thoughts, rhythmically typing, never noticed Toby, watching him from his own office, smiling softly.

END

Thanks for reading!

Loved it? Hated it? Please let me know at lazy.gege@ibelgique.com 


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